


Wash'n Walk

by levendis



Series: Prompt Fics [12]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, cleaning supplies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 20:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4276782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levendis/pseuds/levendis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s okay, she’s been trained to handle this sort of thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wash'n Walk

**Author's Note:**

> for anon, who requested: The Doc is freaking out on some drugs from 'some' planet, absolutely out of control, so Clara or Kate from UNIT, takes the Doctor under control.

It starts as general irritability. The Doctor is always irritable, though, so Kate doesn’t beat herself up for missing the signs. It turns into sweating and nervous pacing by the half-hour mark, which should have set off alarm bells, but she’s got a potential global health crisis to deal with, understandably her attention is elsewhere.

By the time he’s got her against the wall of a supply closet, she’s forced to conclude something may have gone terribly wrong. The easy way she puts her arms around him, that’s another cause for concern. The ringing in her ears and the fact that she’s inexplicably, overwhelmingly turned on -

It’s okay, she’s been trained to handle this sort of thing.

“You should lock me up,” he rasps out, breath hot on her neck. He’s yanking her shirt open, pulling her trousers down, fingernails digging into her thighs.

“Would if I could.” These are the nice offices, the friendly public-front offices, not the ones with a dungeon. She whimpers as his mouth closes around her nipple.

“Punch me in the face, then,” he mutters. Teeth and tongue and the words rumbling against her skin.

_Don’t talk with your mouth full,_ she thinks hysterically.

“Kick me, taser me, something,” he continues as he drifts downwards. “I can’t, I’m trying but I can’t-”

“Neither can I,” she admits. “Guess we’ll just have to ride it out.” She finds herself grabbing him by the hair, urging him lower, that beaky nose of his nudging her cunt and this is going to be so difficult to write a report about.

“We’re professionals, solving a problem. Well. You’re a professional and I’m solving the problem. Six of one.” He pulls her down onto a carton of industrial floor-cleaner, spreads her legs open wide.

“Shut up. That’s an order.” She’s in control. She is, she swears.

“Yes ma'am.”

The buzzing in her head and this alien berk between her legs, and the blinking red alert light, and the heat pooling in her belly, and the undignified noises she’s making. But she’s in control. 100% on top of the situation. The situation happens to be him eating her out, is all.

Her radio squawks and he’s sucking on her clit but it’s not like you can hear that, right? Everything is fine. She slaps the talk button.

“Go ahead,” she chokes out.

“Good news, ma'am. Osgood found an antidote, we’re sending it through the vents now. Should start taking effect in a few minutes, full decontamination expected within the hour.”

“Very - very good. Keep me updated.” She drops the radio on the floor and falls back, head thunking against the wall. Hopefully there won’t be much to update her on, at least until this is resolved.

And resolve it he does: he’s got a talented mouth, when he’s not spewing insults and gobbledigook. Plus, she’d be lying if she said she’d never thought about this - not this in particular, the supply closet and the extraterrestrial sex drug, but him in general. He was oddly compelling, with his dumb hair and gangly limbs and owlish intensity. There were worse people to be face-fucked by.

“Right-o,” she says breathily, buttoning herself back up.

He’s leaning against a mop bucket, an unfathomable look on his face. Palming himself roughly through his trousers, fingers trembling like he desperately wants more, needs more (of course he needs more, it’s a bloody _sex drug_ ), but is still somehow holding onto a shred of self-restraint.

“Do you want help with that?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine.” Picking now of all times to start being polite.

She raises an eyebrow. “If you’re waiting for permission, it’s granted.”

He nods, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a crooked smile, then fumbles his trousers open and his straining erection out. Staring at her the whole time. It’s unnerving. And it’s the vestiges of the drug that’s making her bite her lip and cross her legs at the sight, this even-more-disheveled-than-usual idiot frantically jerking himself off as his eyes rove over her body. It’s the drug, and the drug will be leaving her system soon. Any minute now. He furrows his brow and, looking faintly surprised, comes into the first thing he can grab, which is a mop head.

“We’re not mentioning this again,” she says, spritzing her hands with sanitizer.

“Mentioning what?”

“Nothing.” She spreads her arms wide, then claps her hands together, smiling blandly. “Up for some good old-fashioned mass-retconning? We’ve got at least a hundred civilians that need to be convinced nothing strange happened, we could use your help.”

“I’ve got,” he starts. “Um.” He gestures vaguely. “Space things, to do.”

“Can’t hurt to ask. After you,” she says, and waves him through the door.

It’s the drug that makes her check his arse out as he runs away, jacket flapping dramatically. Just the drug. Obviously.


End file.
